If the dogs got high.

We’re getting our educational segment in early on this one. Pot. Weed. Bud. Flower. Dank. Trees. Dope. Reefer. Cannabis. Grass. For those of you who didn’t go to high school with me, you need to know that those are nicknames for marijuana. Moving on.

So the other day I was looking at our dogs and started thinking about pot and I began to imagine what each of them would be like if they smoked it. I know, I know. I have no clue why those two thoughts got together in my mind. All I can tell you is my mind is a scary place so don’t even consider going there and trying to figure that one out. Ok back to pot and dogs. I hope you’ll find these scenarios as amusing as I did. And just to be clear, I am not high but you may think that’s a lie by the time you’re done reading this.

Let’s start with Crispie, our 10-year-old granddaughter. I’m positive she would be a very mellow pothead with a major case of the munchies. Normally, she’s pretty chill. Well, she’s pretty chill until it’s time to eat. At those times she makes sure that we too are aware that it’s time to eat. She’s not afraid to bark at the ass-crack of dawn (that’s before the sun is up) and she is very good at completely ignoring our encouragement to shut-up. With that said, if Crispie was high she would most definitely be in the pantry, yes, in it, and also digging through the refrigerator. She would be searching for something sweet like a roll of cookie dough or some Skittles or maybe peanut M & M’s. Damn that all sounds good. NO! I swear I’m not high. Anyway, once she found her kind of munchie she’d be chilling on the sofa and watching Jerry Springer until the buzz wore off. She would definitely be a very kicked back pothead.

Carson is just a bit neurotic when he’s straight so him being high would not only be a trip for him but for everyone around him as well. He would be more of a hyped up type of stoner; which is something you don’t see often. He’d immediately be on perimeter watch in the yard. He’s been known to bark at the neighbor’s weather vane, their pool skimmer pole, and pretty much every bird within 60 miles. Which means, I’ve no doubt that grass (no pun intended), trees (again with the pun), air, and well, everything or nothing, would look sketchy to him. He’d give reports every 15-minutes making sure we all know that he’s got things under control because he’s checked the trees, the turtle house, the hose, the chairs, the shed, the shadows, the water, the grill, the windows, the fence, the gate, the trees, the house, the water, the trees, the fence, the grill, the shed; you get the picture. Poor Carson would be a terrible pothead.

Hudson, like Crispie, would truly enjoy his high. He’d appreciate it and want to help everyone else to enjoy their high as well. He would absolutely abide by the “puff-puff pass” pot smoking etiquette because, well, it’s just the right thing to do. Once he’d puffed and passed, he’d find somewhere to just hang out and watch the world go by. Maybe he’d notice the pictures on the walls for the first or hundredth time. Maybe he’d think about his Netflix choice for the evening. Or maybe, he wouldn’t think about anything except the cloud of “Ahhh” that his body seemed to be on. No matter what though, Hudson would be the ideal pothead.

Shelby would be the snobbiest stoner ever. She wouldn’t even know what “puff-puff pass” meant because she would never do such a thing. She would have her own pot and wouldn’t share. She’d be the one who would be stretched out on the sofa, leaning on some cushy pillows, head tilted back against the cushions, with a joint in a long cigarette filter. She’d be sure to tell you why she won’t share and to inform you about how you can and should get your own weed. She would then ask you to be a Dear and get her a soda for her cotton mouth and maybe a few strawberries for her munchies. This would continue until her high wore off and at that point she’d excuse herself and go take a nap in the closet. Shelby would be a high-maintenance pothead.

Clarence, the 14-year-old, 6 pound Chihuahua would be a hysterical stoner. I’m certain that he would be the classiest pothead ever. He would use the fanciest of pipes. He would savor his hit and release his smoke in the perfect smoke rings. He would speak and suddenly, holy crap, he’d be British. I know! He’d ask you to bring Shelby some tea and biscuits to shut her up. He’d use the word rubbish to describe Crispie’s choice of television show. Bloody hell and bender would be aimed at Carson’s behavior. He’d describe Hudson as “sloshed.” And finally, he’d say (to no one specifically), “You there, retrieve my biscuits from the cupboard.” At that point they all would stare at him and simultaneously bust out laughing. I’m talking major belly laughs going on. Clarence however, would not be the slightest bit amused. But seriously, what did he expect? Everyone’s high!

Workin’ hard for the dogs

About

I explain who I am in the “Who’s Behind the Pawz” section and I don’t want to bore you again. What I would like to tell you about is our entire gang. We have one granddaughter who lives with us. Her name is Crispie, she’s a 10-year-old Chocolate Lab. Marc and I have Shelby a 3-year-old Chihuahua with a bad attitude who was a foster with us until 12-25-2015, and Carson a 1-year-old mix of sorts! We recently added our last Medical Animals In Need (M.A.I.N.) foster, Hudson, to the “never leaving” list. We also have one more granddaughter, Charlee a 10-year-old Chocolate Lab that lives with our daughter. We continuously foster dogs for M.A.I.N. and we’re always waiting on our next one to arrive. Right now we have Clarence (aka Old Dude or Little Dude). He’s 13 years old and 6.5 pounds. He’s in the category of forever foster which means he’s living out his life with us. Each of our kids and grandkids has a unique personality that provide me with laughs, gray hair, fun, some stress, and so much love. Oh, they also give me things to write about.